


in your name i find meaning

by apollothyme



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort Sex, First Time, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, mentions of self-hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 12:58:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollothyme/pseuds/apollothyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony’s parents die on the 11th of February, 1994. It’s a shit cold Friday morning, the sky is full of grey clouds all over the country and the weather reports say it’s going to look much the same during the weekend.</p><p>Although it’s not raining in Manhattan, it is raining cats and dogs over 9th Street in San Francisco when the car Maria Stark and Howard Stark are in is hit by a bus skidding on the wet pavement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in your name i find meaning

Tony’s parents die on the 11th of February, 1994. It’s a shit cold Friday morning, the sky is full of grey clouds all over the country and the weather reports say it’s going to look much the same during the weekend. Although it’s not raining in Manhattan, it is raining cats and dogs over 9th Street in San Francisco when the car Maria Stark and Howard Stark are in is hit by a bus skidding on the wet pavement.

Tony gets The Call, capital letters, two hours later. He nods numbly as Obie, his father’s best friend and business partner, the man he’s called uncle for as long as he remembers, tells him what happened in small, cautious words. Obie sounds careful, as if he’s picturing Tony as a scared kitten and is afraid to frighten him further. It should be comforting to hear someone sound so worried, but Tony is used to many things and comfort isn’t one of them. Instead, the sidestepping of words feels alien to him, a wet blanket against the forest fire raging inside his heart.

He hangs up The Call without saying goodbye, turns off his cell phone, tells his date -- a french model, he hadn’t caught her name, Stephanie or something more french -- he has to go and drops three hundred dollar bills on the table. By the time he gets outside the clouds have decided to infest Manhattan as well, but Tony refuses to go back as he waits for the acne-covered valet to get his car. He drenches the front seat, ruins his expensive suit and busts a headlight when he bumps into a pole as he attempts to drive off. He doesn’t really give a fuck. His parents are dead.

His parents, who never spared a thought for him, who put him in boarding school and forgot about him, who judged him for what he did and didn’t do, who never liked him, never cared for him, never wanted him, are dead. Not breathing. Probably mangled, bruised, bloodied and dead. Obie mentioned something about identifying the bodies, but like hell was Tony doing that. They are -- were -- two of the most famous people in America, any shmuck with eyeballs can identify them. Unless their faces are so broken they’re unrecognizable, that is.

“Fuck!” Tony shouts. He slams his hand against the driving wheel, hitting the horn and making the people around him stare.

Let them stare, Tony thinks. Let them stare, let them shout, let them hate him and his family, let them hit him with their car and make everything stop for at least for one miserable second.

Tony doesn’t want to die; he just doesn’t want to live.

He drives aimlessly for what feels like hours, with his eyes focused on the road but his mind somewhere else entirely. When he finally takes notice of where he is, he’s right back where he started, crossing Brooklyn Bridge and headed towards a place he hasn’t thought of in years.

He expected some paparazzi at the door, they’re like sharks when they smell blood, but the place is deserted, the same way it has been for years. People pass by it all the time, hidden by their umbrellas, faces down and barely chancing a glance at it, too used to its sight. As he looks at it from his car, vision blurred by the ocean of rain in front of him, Tony is grateful for having kept the keys to the place, even after all these years.

He kept them just in case something ever happened while he was in New York, but who’s he kidding? He has enough money to stay in any hotel in the city for as long as he wants. He was just never able to get rid of the damn things, kept multiple pairs — kept multiple pairs of everything — hidden in various places. One of them is in a secret compartment in the trunk of this car, which he fishes out and uses to unlock the gates.

The property is well-kept, the garden as beautiful as ever, and the inside of the mansion is in a similar state. Obviously, people were still coming in to clean it even though Howard and Maria moved out three years ago. If Tony closes his eyes and stops breathing for a moment, he can almost pretend he is a kid again, running through the ancient halls with laughter dripping from his tongue as Jarvis chased him. Young, but never truly innocent.

His feet take him to his old room, fingers brushing the paint on the walls as he crosses dark hallways without needing to look ahead. He’s always known the place too well.

He thought he’d see his room transformed into a studio, maybe even a gym, the typical thing parents did when their kids officially leave the nest, although he’s not sure why he would imagine such a thing. His parents never had a need for more space, and there’s no practical reason for why they would change Tony’s room, which is why it looks the same as it always has. Red walls, beige carpet, big four poster bed, bookshelves full of books and junk scattered around the room.

He strips off his soggy suit — he’s not shivering, thank Carrier for air conditioning — and puts his phone, keys and wallet on his bedside table, movements slow and full of ache, before he climbs onto his bed. The sheets feel like heaven against his tired body, and despite Tony’s best wishes, he feels like he’s come home. Never mind the fact that this place was never his home, not really.

Falling asleep is difficult, and he spends more time looking at the stupid curtain above his head than he does with his eyes closed. Around what must be four a.m. — Tony’s always been good at telling the time from the intensity of the city lights and noise outside his window — he turns his phone back on. Time to face the music.

He’s got a lot of missed calls, even some texts, most from numbers he doesn’t recognize. Only one number sticks out to him. Rhodey’s.

How they’re even friends, Tony sure as hell doesn’t know. They met three years ago, Tony just turned eighteen and happy to celebrate it in a bar full of strangers, Rhodey there with some army pals. They somehow got into a bar fight against some random dudes together — most likely Tony’s fault, as these things often are — and spent the rest of the night talking in their jail cell as they waited for somebody to bail them out. Tony was first, someone with a sharp face and sharper suit from Stark Industries sent by his parents, and he made the man bail out Rhodey as well.

It shouldn’t have meant anything, on the list of wild shit that’s happened to Tony, that night was pretty tame, but something changed that evening. The gears shifted, the universe divided into two and a new path was taken, one with James ‘Rhodey’ Rhodes as Tony’s new best pal, emergency contact and receiver of numerous voicemails from Tony at all hours of the day, and another one without him.

And that is it. They are just friends, close friends, maybe even best friends, although Tony doesn’t have much experience on the matter. Does Tony want them to be more than friends? Obviously. He has eyes on his face, he knows how much of a catch Rhodey is, also the reason why he knows nothing will ever happen between them. Rhodey is not only stupidly attractive, but he is also smart, charming and funny. Pretty much the perfect combo. He’s a military man too, so the old Don’t Ask Don’t Tell is an ever present ‘fuck you’, not Tony has ever been one to let little things such as laws and rules limit him.

No. It is just that Rhodey is good. He is good in every sense of the word. He does what is right, fights for his country, works hard and often helps others out the goddamn kindness of his heart. If Tony tried to point out how all the ways he is not that he’d probably pass out from sleep deprivation halfway through.

Tony has half a mind to ignore Rhodey’s calls, but he has nothing better to do and the silence in his bedroom is starting to get to him.

“Hey there,” he says after Rhodey accepts the call. His voice sounds normal, not wobbly or doleful at all. Good. Tony’s never been one to show sadness without a couple of drinks in him first, and he doesn’t want to start now either because of his parents of all people.

“Tony!” Rhodey exclaims, even through the weak connection, Tony can tell how shaken up he sounds. “Where are you? I’ve been trying to call you for hours.”

“I’m at the mansion in Fifth Avenue.”

“What are you doing there, Tony?” Rhodey asks. He sounds tired down to his bones, like every word needs to be pushed out of him by force, but relieved as well, and Tony hates that he was the one who made his friend — his only friend, he adds — feel like that.

“I don’t know,” he replies, and oh, there’s the hint of sadness he was trying to avoid, mixed with a pitch of pathetic and a whiff loss too, “I drove around for a couple of hours and then I just came here. Did you know I kept the keys? I have multiple sets, one of them was in my car. First time I ever used them.”

Rhodey sighs but laughs too, a fond sound Tony can’t help but smile to. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“You don’t need to,” Tony says. Even to his own ears his words sound weak, fake, but Rhodey still takes them to heart, he always does, and replies fiercely with a passion Tony adores.

“Yes, I do. You’re my best friend, Tony,” so that answers one of Tony’s questions. “I’m leaving the base as we speak. I’ll be there in two hours.”

Tony wants to say that’s impossible, Rhodey is based in Florida right now so it’d take him at least three hours to get to New York, and that’s if he hijacks a plane with his crazy military skills, but he doesn’t say anything in the end. He’s just too tired. Too tired to try and keep his best friend, who he is in love with like the hot mess that he is, away. Too tired to pretend he doesn’t want Rhodey to come in the first place. Too tired to talk to anyone else. Too tired to keep his eyes open.

Sleep doesn’t feel like relief, but it’s close enough that Tony doesn’t fight it.

: :

The sound of the doorbell at the Stark Mansion is the classic ‘ding dong’, set up by Howard himself so it can be heard throughout the entire building. Tony never minded it much as a child, most people only needed to ring once before someone opened the door. With the house empty, however, the duty falls on Tony, who just scrunches his nose and rolls around so that he’s lying down on his stomach, able to hide his face in the mattress.

Whoever is at the door is persistent though, annoyingly so, and they keep ringing the bell until the sound is reverberating inside Tony’s skull back and forth. Tony only knows one person capable of being that annoying at — a glance at the window — six a.m. Uh, so he had borrowed a plane after all.

“One second,“ Tony shouts as he rummages his room in a search for clean clothes — his suit is still a wet mess from yesterday’s impromptu shower — that comes out empty handed. Just boxers it is then. It’s not like Rhodey hasn’t seen him in similar, or worse, attire before.

Tony makes his way to the door with lengthy patience, not particularly enthused to have Rhodey nag him for turning off his off and running away without warning anyone. He’s still steeling himself for a sermon when he opens the door, which is why he doesn’t get a single word out before Rhodey drops his backpack on the floor and steps forward to give him a massive hug.

“Oh,” is the only thing Tony manages to say. Rhodey’s breath is warm against the skin behind his ear, short puffs of breath reeling him in as Rhodey gets one arm around Tony’s shoulder, the other around his hips as pulls their bodies flush together.

Tony’s right arm is hanging like a loose limb by his side, the other trapped between their chests. It takes him a while to remember that he should move, do something, hug Rhodey back like a normal human being, and when he finally does it only makes Rhodey hug him tighter. They must look ridiculous, Rhodey in full army attire and Tony in short, black boxers, hugging at the footsteps of an empty mansion in the heart of New York City before the sun has even come up. Now would be an awful time to have paparazzi on his ass, not for Tony’s sake, but for Rhodey’s. At the sweet age of twenty-one, Tony already has enough dirt on him to last him a lifetime in the tabloids, but Rhodey’s clean. He’s good.

“I’m so sorry,” Rhodey says, cutting off Tony’s witty remark on their bodies fusing together if they kept the hug up for much longer.

“You shouldn’t,” Tony says, not the right thing to say, but the thought that has been plaguing his mind for the past couple of hours. “I’m not.”

Rhodey takes a step back and holds Tony back at arm's length to inspect him more closely. There is no anger in his expression, no shock either. He knew what Tony’s relationship with his parents was like, although Tony doesn’t think he ever really got it.

“They were still your parents,” he says in the end, making Tony shrug.

“They might as well have been strangers for all I knew them.” Tony laughs, bitter and tired, and spreads open his arms. “This is all they left me. An empty house I was never welcome in.”

“What about the company?” Rhodey asks.

“I don’t know. Obie will probably get it.” Tony looks away and scratches the back of his neck.

The look Rhodey gives him then is too much, full of pity and kindness and love all at the same time. Tony doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t want it anyway. He doesn’t need anyone’s pity. He’s Tony fucking Stark.

“I don’t need your pity,” he says. Rhodey just chuckles and envelops him in a tight hug again, this time pushing Tony’s face against his neck so that Tony’s next words come out muffled. “Rhodey…” he tries to say, trailing off uncertainly.

“It’s not pity, you idiot,” Rhodey interjects. Tony doesn’t ask what it is if it’s not pity, scared of the answer.

“At least close the damn door,” Tony says. At some point during their not very platonic hug, Tony’s hands found Rhodey’s shoulders and are now clinging to them like they’re Tony’s lifeline. His breath is also coming in shorter gulps than before, similar to how it’d be if he was crying, which he is definitely not.

Rhodey closes the door with his foot, not taking his arms off Tony.

“What do you need?” he asks. His voice is low and quiet and so self-assured. Tony feels himself shudder, thoughts already running wild at the implications of hi’s words.

“I want— I need—” Tony tries to say, but the words struggle to come out. He’s going to fuck this up. He’s going to mess up his one friendship by reading too much into things. He’s going to regret his decision in ten seconds, and yet he is still going to do it because if it doesn’t do it now, then he’s never doing it and Tony can’t let the opportunity pass up.

He kisses Rhodey’s neck, open mouthed and with his teeth grazing the skin, so that there’s no chance Rhodey will mistake his actions as innocent. Rhodey’s skin is impossibly warm against his lips, smells of military issued shower gel and the tiniest hint of orange, as if Rhodey had been rubbing himself in the fruit hours ago. Tony tries to keep his actions as somewhat light as he waits for a reaction, or more specifically as he waits for Rhodey to push him away, tell him this wasn’t what he meant, look at Tony in disgust and hate. When Rhodey’s arms tighten around him, just the slightest bit, Tony takes it as an open invitation to keep going, too desperate to stand still.

He bites down, hard and angry, letting his frustration take control for a second too long before he kisses the bruised skin, licks it with his tongue to soothe away the pain. He lets his lips trail up so he can suck the skin just above the line of Rhodey’s shirt, where he won’t be able to hide the mark. Tony knows he shouldn’t, but this might be all he’s going to get, and he wants to leave a visible mark, so that whenever he looks at Rhodey from now on he’ll be able to say ‘I left a hickey right there, on your neck, and you let me’.

Rhodey’s fingers flex against his skin, their grip so tight that it will probably leave marks, and isn’t it perfect, that they’ll both have reminders of this.

“Tony…” Rhodey says. His voice is hoarse, as if he’s just run it to the ground by shouting and screaming too hard at the TV while he watched a football match, and not because he has an almost-naked Tony Stark leaving hickeys on his neck.

“Don’t say ‘no’,” Tony asks. He stops kissing Rhodey’s skin, but doesn’t step away, a little too frantic, far too honest. “You can’t. Just— don’t say ‘no’, please.”

“I won’t, Tony,” Rhodey pushes Tony away so he can look at him in the eye, holding Tony’s chin with his left hand when Tony tries to look away. “I won’t. I just need to know, is this a one-time thing?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be,” Tony replies. He feels like an open wound, full of so much fear, anger and pain that the thought of lying doesn’t even cross his mind.

Rhodey makes a sharp noise that sounds familiar to how Tony feels and pulls him close, kissing him on the lips and licking Tony’s mouth open with an ease and single-mindedness Tony didn’t expect. He takes it as a good sign, although frankly he’s now past the point of questioning things. He just wants this, wants to enjoy it for as long as he can, wants Rhodey wrapped around him and inside of him, wants to forget about the idea of Rhodey leaving afterward, wants to breathe and never be suffocated by life again.

“Bedroom?” Rhodey asks, slowly letting go of Tony. His lips are wet, bitten red, and Tony wants to kiss them again and again until he knows them by heart. He nods instead, grabs one of Rhodey’s hands and pulls them towards his bedroom as quickly as he can without looking back once.

Rhodey is the one to close the door behind them, pushing Tony towards the bed and standing in front of it. Tony lies down on his back, pushes himself up on his arms seconds later so that he can watch as Rhodey takes off his outfit methodically, piece by piece. He lays his gun on the bedside table near Tony’s stuff carefully, lets the rest of his clothes fall hazardly on his floor. Soft, blue light from the windows bathes his skin beautifully, the stuff better men write poems about. His body has been sculpted by months of harsh training in the most barren places and it shows. He looks like demigod, all defined muscles and sharp lines that Tony wants to trace with his fingers and mouth.

Their bodies fit together perfectly, like Tony wished they would, like he hoped they would. He lets himself be manhandled, lets Rhodey’s fingers leave marks on his hips and his mouth leave marks on his neck. He lets himself be kissed, lets himself kiss back, revels in the feeling of Rhodey pulling him close, turning them around and making Tony sit on his lap, back to chest.

They’re sitting at the edge of the bed, in front of a full-body mirror and Tony can see everything. He can see the sharp contrast between his too-white skin and Rhodey’s healthier black. He can see how his ribs hug his chest too tight, a painful reminder of too many forgotten meals, and how Rhodey’s fingers trace the skin there like it’s something to be treasured, something to be loved. He lets his head fall on Rhodey’s shoulder, eyes still fixed on his debauched figure with its open legs and its rapidly moving chest.

Rhodey gets one hand around Tony’s cock and strokes it a beat too fast, entirely too rough, just like Tony likes it. He’s staring at their bodies too, and there’s a heat in his eyes that makes Tony’s head swim. The sounds that slip past Tony’s lips do so on their own accord, shaky moans and breathless groans. He babbles, unashamed and raked with pleasure from his toes to the tips of his hair.

“You’re so good, Rhodey, you feel so fucking good,” Tony says. Rhodey’s head turns to him, and they both have to lean away from each other to be able to kiss. It’s more them sharing the same air than it is a kiss in the end, but it’s good, it’s so fucking good. Tony comes a few seconds later, feeling like he’s just been turned inside out.

Rhodey’s cock is heavy weight against the small of his back, and Tony really wants to do something about it, that something along the lines of him on his knees and Rhodey fucking his mouth, but he’s too tired, jello bones and goo muscles, so Rhodey has to finish the job himself. The position is a little bit awkward, there’s not enough space with Tony still sitting on him, but Rhodey doesn’t seem to mind, coming on Tony’s back with a small cry muffled against Tony’s skin.

Still too weak to do much of anything, Rhodey is the one to get them under the covers. Tony lets him without any complaints. He’s never liked being told what to do, but he finds that he doesn’t mind it all that much when it’s Rhodey’s hands doing the telling.

They lie on their sides, facing each other. Tony isn’t hiding under the covers only because he doesn’t have the energy to do it, although he almost wants to, what with the way Rhodey is staring at him like Tony holds all the answers in the world. Tony is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Rhodey to say he doesn’t want anything else. And Tony won’t complain, won’t get angry or sad, won’t shout or cry, because he gave Rhodey this. He gave him the chance to choose and even though he wants more — wants it like there’s an itch beneath his skin he can’t reach, wants it like he’s a man out of air, wants it like it will fix everything in the world, wants it like he’s never wanted anything else, wants it like he’ll never want anything else— than just one rough tumble together, he’s not going to back on his word. He’s not that pathetic and weak, mind you.

And then Rhodey does the unexpected and says, “I want this to be more than a one-time thing.”

Tony can’t help it. The question slips past his lips without permission. “Are you sure?” he’s about to continue speaking, let Rhodey know of all the reasons why he should run away, leave Tony and go somewhere far, far away because Tony’s a burning mess and fire spreads, when Rhodey cuts him off with a quick, sugary sweet kiss.

“I’ve been sure since the day I met you and you bust a guy’s head with a chair to protect me.”

And Tony can’t stop himself from smiling so damn hard his cheeks hurt. He really can’t.

For the first time in his life, the world has stopped and he can breathe again.


End file.
